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of the castle and release him. With a suspicious gleam in his eyes, Samuel had agreed.
    Shortly, Ranulf Wardieu dismounted with an ease that belied the injury he had suffered the day before. He tossed the reins to Samuel and said something that made the other man laugh. More words were exchanged, then a sack was handed down—provisions, no doubt.
    Lizanne drew a sharp breath. Samuel had disregarded her orders again. It was small wonder he was not also providing the cur with a horse.
    Lady must have felt her mistress’s mounting tension, for she tossed her head, and her great, soulful eyes rolled back. With whispered words of assurance, Lizanne soothed her while never taking her eyes from Ranulf Wardieu.
    Pale hair lifting in the warm breeze of early summer where he stood in the long grass, he turned to watch his escort depart, but even when the riders disappeared and the pounding of hooves faded away, Lizanne did not move. Less than eager to finish what she had started, she gripped the mare’s silky mane and fought the panic that, if she did not beat it down, would send her back to the safety of the castle.
    It was Lady who decided the matter, lunging from the cover of trees into the meadow.
    Providence, Lizanne concluded. As she spurred the mare into a gallop, the hood of her short mantle slid off her head.
    Ranulf turned and stared at the horse and rider, felt the ticklish vibrations of their approach through the thin soles of his borrowed boots. Though he tried to assess his opponent, the man was too distant, and the sun was at his back.
    When the glint of steel caught his eye, he grimaced at the grisly task before him. A vision of the lady safe behind the walls of her castle while she sent another to his death only served to deepen his anger and resolve.
    He did not want this man’s life. He would be satisfied only with avenging himself upon Lady Lizanne. And though he would keep his vow to hold her family blameless, he had determined to take her as she had taken him. If that meant doing battle with the brother, so be it.
    Thus, it was with astonishment that he found himself staring up into the flushed countenance of that lady when she brought her horse to a halt before him. It was the first time he had seen her face without the cover of her unkempt hair, it now being confined to a thick braid, and he was pleased by the flawless oval above a slender throat.
    “Welcome, Baron Wardieu. ’Tis a fine day for a duel.”
    He inclined his head. “Forsooth, I did not expect you to attend this bloodletting. I must needs remember you are not a lady.”
    Her jaw hardened. “I assure you, there is naught that would keep me from this.”
    He looked at the weapons she carried, then past her. “Where is this man who would champion your ill-fated cause?”
    “There is no man.”
    Ranulf lifted an eyebrow. “You were unable to find a single man willing to die for you?”
    She leaned forward and smiled faintly. “Alas, I fear I am so uncomely none would offer.”
    Suspicion creeping in, Ranulf said, “What of our bargain?”
    “It stands.”
    “You think to hold me ‘til your brother finds his way home?” He shifted more of his weight onto his uninjured leg and took a step toward her. “I vow you will not return me to that vile cell.”
    The mare snorted loudly and pranced sideways until the lady brought it under control.
    “Nay,” she said, gaze unwavering, “your opponent is here before you now.”
    It took Ranulf a moment to comprehend the incomprehensible, then he laughed. As preposterous as it was, a woman challenging an accomplished knight, her proposal did not surprise him—though it did amuse him—for it fit the conclusions he had wrestled with regarding her character.
    Had she a death wish, then? Even if that spineless brother of hers had shown her how to swing a sword, it was inconceivable she would be proficient with such a heavy weapon. A sling, perhaps, and he mustn’t forget a dagger, but a sword?
    He